She’s slow to respond, but she does. Responding to that name. Turning beneath my hand, revealing herself to me inch by inch, moment by moment. Her reluctance to obey is my delight, prolonging the pleasure of her reveal. My hand remains around her neck, but now it’s her throat I’m gripping.
I gaze at her, like I’m seeing her for the first time. Her flushed skin. Her small, firm, flawless breasts topped with those dusky pink nipples, standing erect. Her tiny waist, slender hips. My Vicky isn’t a petite woman—she’s tall enough—but she’s slim. Delicate. Perfectly proportioned.
Fucking gorgeous.
I cup her pussy, rubbing up through her folds, and she draws a breath. I flick over her clit, and she jerks, back arching. My fingers grip onto the sparse thatchof pubic hair she has, trimmed short, maybe a half inch in length. Just enough to tug.
“I don’t like this,” I say. “It obscures my view of you. Tomorrow, you’ll go to the salon and have it all removed.”
She doesn’t reply.
I was looking at her body—at her cunt, specifically—and I shift my gaze to her eyes. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you.” The words are sharp, her eyes flash with fury. My little Tink is still provoking me.
Then her eyes flicker down. Pause. Come back up. It’s just a moment, fleetingly brief, but in that instant she’s checked me out. Lingered on my cock. Her lips are parted and the tip of her tongue dabs at the bottom one, wetting it.
And I see it all.
“Do you want to taste?” I ask.
She glares at me, then shakes her head. Her eyes flick back down.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I shift my grip to the top of her head, turning it toward me, and place a knee on the bed.
“Alex, no.” Her tone is reluctant, but she doesn’t try to squirm away. She could; she doesn’t.
Vicky has gone down on me once or twice. I don’t think it’s her favorite activity, and to be frank, she’s awful at it. I’ve always let her set her own pace, and her own insecurities are her worst enemy. Now I wonder if she doesn’t do it because she thinks I don’t like it, not becauseshedoesn’t.
But I don’t much care. Tonight, it’s happening.
This play, seeing her like this over such a long time, it’s aroused me. My cock’s hard, and the tip is wet. I let it bounce on her lips, and I’m rewarded with another glare.
“Open.” She shakes her head, and I grip it tighter, tilting it back to me. “Open, or I’ll fist my fingers in your hair and squeeze until you do.”
Reluctantly, she opens.
“Good girl.”
The fire in her eyes when I utter those words is the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen. She responds every time, and hates that she does. My cock twitches in response, and she feels it against her lips. She’s lying there passive, waiting for me, refusing to cooperate. But I’m not in a rush. I wait, too.
The head of my cock is resting on her half-open mouth, her lips partly embracing it, like she’s giving it a little kiss. The position holds. A breath. Two. Another.
Her tongue flicks over the tip of me. Tasting me.
Her eyes screw tight, and she tries to turn her head away. Her cheeks flush red as she blushes, ashamed at her response.
How did I never see this before? How did I never explore what she really was?
Why the hell did I ever think my Vicky wasn’tsexual?
Her latent sexuality is stronger than I could ever have imagined.
I thought she didn’tlikesex. That she was vanillain her desires.
One bruising kiss, one dress ruined, one spanking, and the truth is unveiled.
My pulse is the fastest it’s been since I closed my first billion-dollar deal. Faster, actually.
